


Falling

by infinite_regress



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Danger, Drama, F/M, Romance, Suspense, hurt comfort, whouffaldi, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinite_regress/pseuds/infinite_regress
Summary: This is not a new story. This is an updated version of my original story of the same name, which I edited to remove some of the comma splices, grammar mistakes and pov slips.I've also changed its rating to a 'T' so that anyone who didn't want to read it before can do so now.Let me repeat, this is not a new story.  Its the old story, hopefully, a little better written. :)





	1. Running

The Doctor and Clara hid in the dark, backs pressed to the bark of an ancient, gnarled tree, deep in a forest on a faraway world.

He turned to look at Clara. She was out of breath and her white shirt clung to her; dirty, soaked and ripped at the shoulder. It was his fault, again, that leaves and twigs snagged in her hair, and blood dripped from her grazed knees.  When she'd stumbled and fell during their headlong dash he grabbed her hand, and he hadn't let go.

He wouldn't let go, ever, if he could help it.

The forest, a mass of towering trees and tangled thickets, had been gloomy when they started running an hour ago. It was pitch black now.

He urged her forwards. "We have to keep going."

She followed him, without hesitation, into the most stupidly dangerous situations. She held his hand now, as if her life depended on it.

She wouldn't let go either.

He should stop putting her at risk like this. It was selfish, and some days he hated himself for it. But who else did he want by his side? No one else. Only Clara, always Clara.

"Are you ready?" he whispered.

She squeezed his hand, telling him, yes, and they ran, hand in hand through the pitch-black forest. He could see well enough, but Clara couldn't. She held his hand as tight as she ever had, followed him blindly, let him guide her along the dark forest path. She had to take short strides, frantically fast, to keep up with his long paces.

As they dashed on through the forest, heavy boots crackled through the foliage behind. Voices rang out every now and again. "This way!" "Thane wants them alive." Then he heard a sickening laugh. "He wants  _her_  alive, I don’t think he cares about the old fool."

There had to be six men following them, maybe more. They would kill him, eventually, the Doctor was sure of that. But what he'd seen in Thane's eyes when he looked at Clara made his blood run cold. He'd never let Thane touch her. Not one finger, not ever. He held her hand tighter, and his hearts thumped in is chest like drums through the schism. Her breath came in desperate, uneven rasps. How much longer could she keep this up? How much further to the TARDIS?

A deafening crack rang out in the trees to the east and blue light flared in the darkness. One of the energy weapons those thugs were waving about back in the village when things went sour. He paused for a moment. Clara was gasping.

"Come on, Clara, just a little further," he coaxed, and she nodded silently.

They crashed on. It started to rain, scattered droplets at first, then it ran down his neck, driving into his face and stinging his eyes. Clara shivered and trembled. Maybe it was the cold, or pain from those cut knees, or exhaustion. Perhaps it was fear that made her shake; she saw the predator in Thane too. She'd cringed as Thane prowled behind her, stroked her hair, and told her she was beautiful. Seeing that animal touch her sent the Doctor wild, he'd punched Thane in the face and sent him sprawling. Predictably, they had to run.

If there was as second to spare, he'd stop running, wrap his jacket around her against the wind and the rain, hold her close and tell her he'd never let anyone hurt her. He would die a billion times before he let anything happen to her.

They had to keep running.

Another crack came from behind, closer this time.

They pelted headlong through the trees until the forest ended without warning. Above, a clear view of the starless sky, the full moon half covered by black clouds. To the left, half a mile away, maybe more, across an open field, stood the outline of the TARDIS. Ahead, there was a foot or two of muddy grass then the world dropped away.

He anchored up, still holding her hand, as they slid toward to the precipice.

In the moonlight he could see her hair matted across her face. Her shirt was soaked through; the fabric clung to her as her whole body shook. The cold rain beat down on them both.

She staggered and he took another step with her towards the looming edge of the cliff. Hearts racing he desperately clawed at her shoulder, bunching the fabric of her shirt in his free hand to stop her tumbling over, but it ripped away leaving her skin exposed. Her eyes were wide and locked with his. She lurched another step backwards. Her mouth opened; she must have felt solid ground disappear from under her feet, but she made no sound.

As she fell back he threw himself forwards and slammed onto the soil.

"No, no, no!" He held her desperately, if she was the most precious thing in the universe, as she toppled over the edge. "Clara!" he braced himself, put every ounce of strength he had into to holding on to her hand. She swung back and forwards in his grip. He looked down into the infinite gloom beyond and then back into her eyes.

The thump of boots, the crack of guns, the sounds of men coming relentlessly closer rang in his ears. The memory of fire in Thane's eyes as he looked hungrily at Clara sent a shudder through him.

_My Clara._

"Doctor!" she screamed, finding her voice now, scrabbling desperately with her feet in the air. Her free hand swung wide and grasped for a handhold on the cliff. "Please Doctor! Pull me up!"

One white shoe fell from her foot and spun away in the darkness.

Thane's men would burst through any minute now. He glanced across the field at the TARDIS. On his own, he'd cover the distance in a minute or two, maybe less. He could even take a blast of that energy weapon in his back, it would hurt like hell but he'd keep running. Clara wouldn't stand a chance. Could he carry her? Doubtful. He'd be slower and one slip on the rough ground and it would all be over.

He looked down at her. She was so beautiful, so breakable, so precious. Tears streamed down her face, she was as afraid as he had ever seen her.  _This_  was being between a rock and a hard place: Thane's men behind him, the abyss below, the white shoe still spinning and falling. His throat was tight.

He had only seconds to decide. Should he stand up and fight for her? He couldn't win that fight. There had to be another way.

He looked down again with sinking dread. There was only one option. "Clara. Do you trust me?"

"Yes, of course I trust you!"

"Then let go."

"What? No! Pull me up!" She clawed desperately at his hand, pleading with him.

Every fibre of his being urged him to pull her up onto the cliff and wrap her in his arms. He wanted to hold her tight and safe and never let go. But that was an illusion. The comfort would last seconds then Thane's men would rip her from him.

His voice caught in his throat, but he forced the words out with a calm he didn't feel. "Clara, I can't pull you up. They'll be here any second. You'll never make it back to the TARDIS."

She looked down and realised, he thought, what he was asking her to do.

"No! Don't you dare let me go. Pull me up. I'll take my chances with Thane!" She was petrified.

He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat and fought to keep his voice calm, while the woman he cared for most in the universe swung back and forth over the abyss.

There was a crack, closer now, and the flare of blue light lit trees at the edge of the forest.

"Think it through," he said urgently, "Thane's men are right behind us. What will happen when they catch us?"

Her voice was barely audible over the wind and the driving rain. "He'll hurt me," and then she said, as if this was the worst of it, "He'll make you watch." Tears filled her eyes and tore at his hearts. He'd take her place in a heartbeat if he could.

"Clara, listen to me. You are in control of this, not me, not Thane. You decide."

She glanced down. "I can't. I'm scared. I'm not brave enough."

"Of course you're scared. Being brave isn't about not being scared. It's about being terrified and doing what you have to do anyway." He paused, his hearts hammering. "I'm scared too." Their palms were pressed together, her skin hot against his, despite the driving rain. "The real question is do you trust me, Clara Oswald?"

She looked up at him with those beautiful eyes wide open. "I trust you," she said.

"I'll catch you. I will always catch you." He took a deep breath to steel himself. "Now let go."

She looked up at him then, and her eyes filled him, made his hearts race in his chest. She nodded slightly, acquiescing, finding her courage and showing her faith in him, the daft old Time Lord who stole a TARDIS and ran away.

Her eyes closed. He felt her grip on his hand loosen, and then the warmth of her palm slipped away. He watched, transfixed, as her hair spread wide around her, and her arms stretched outwards. Her white shirt was framed against the eternal blackness below.

Clara was falling away from him, falling into darkness.


	2. Falling

“. . . I will always catch you. Now let go.” His voice had that gentle burr. She loved the way he rolled her name from his tongue, as if it belonged there. He said once, ‘Love isn’t an emotion, it’s a promise.’ He was making her a promise right now.

She closed her eyes, _I believe you. I can do this._ She let her grip loosen.

Then comforting warmth of his hand was gone and she fell away from him.

_One second._

Her stomach lurched, adrenalin rushed through her, the dizzying feeling of being terrified and exhilarated all at once. She heard a piercing scream, mingled with the rushing of the wind, and wondered, vaguely, who it was.

_Two seconds_

She could still see the whites of his eyes and his face outlined against the black sky. His hand remained frozen in the exact place where they had been joined moments before. That scream was her own. Her head pounded.

_Three seconds_

She blinked and he was gone. The wind blasted through her hair and whipped it around her face and lashed into her eyes. The air rushing past her ears tore the scream from her lungs, and she gasped and gulped for breath.

_Four seconds_

The starless sky stretched above. The moon hid behind black clouds, as if afraid to witness her fall. She was alone in the void, a pin prick in eternity, surrounded by blackness.

_Five seconds_

The wind tore at her shirt, tugged at the flimsy fabric clinging to her like a shroud. She was an ice queen spinning in the darkness. Was the vacuum of space like this? It was colder, probably, but as lonely.

_Six seconds_

Does your life flash before your eyes? She saw her mum’s face, then her dad, her gran, her ordinary life. Then the day her life changed, when a boy with a blue box, a foppish smile and bow-tie knocked on her door. An Ice Warrior on a submarine. A ghost story, a love story? Her head thumped and spun.

_Seven seconds_

Cybermen, too many cybermen. Danny! A steel army, a broken heart, betrayal, forgiveness.

_Eight seconds_

The air rushed past like the devil’s breath, clawing at her clothes, biting her ears. She was so cold now, icicle fingers probed the air. Frostbite? Would she lose her fingertips? She laughed, in spite of herself, worrying about her fingers when she was plummeting to her death.

_Nine seconds_

He’ll come for me. He always comes for me. _Doctor_. She closed her eyes, and this time it was his face she saw, fire and ice, the oncoming storm, tender and terrible. The impossible man; the soldier so brave he doesn’t need a gun, the biggest five year old in the bloody universe.

A scared little boy in a drafty old barn. It’s okay to be afraid. Fear is a superpower. Fear doesn’t have to make you cowardly or cruel. Fear can make you kind. Fear can reveal hidden things, shine a light on treasures tucked away out of sight. Fear shows you what you want. _Doctor._  

_Ten Seconds_

The world grew ragged at the edges, the rush of air in her ears faded and everything blurred.

 _Catch me_ , _Doctor._


	3. Catching

Clara fell away into darkness. He turned and scrabbled to his feet, didn’t pause or hesitate. As long as he didn’t see it, the future wasn’t set.

_There is no fate but what we make._

He would save her.

He ran. His hearts thumped wildly as he bolted from the edge of the cliff. Thane’s men crashed around in the trees, shouting. Laughing. Wondering if Thane would share his prize.

He closed his mind to it. Nothing mattered but saving Clara. He ran faster.

Blinding rain blasted his face. The ground was a quagmire. Newly ploughed,  deep furrows wanted to twist his ankles and rick his knees. Mud in thick puddles sucked his feet to slow him. He glanced over his shoulder. Thane’s men were at the cliff’s edge, some looking over into the precipice, others searching. Another bolt of blue energy cracked overhead, illuminating the field.

“There he is!” Boots squelched into the field; he wasn’t even halfway to the TARDIS. He was right, although he took no pleasure in it, Clara would never have made it.

He kept running, zig zagged through the darkness towards the outline of the TARDIS.

Almost home.

Another shot high in the air bathed the field in a blue glow, and this time a second shot followed, using the light of the first to guide it. Not so stupid, Thane’s men.

A second after the crack searing pain filled him from his toes to his fingertips. Fire ran through his veins and boiled in his lungs.

_It doesn’t matter. Keep running. Just keep running._

The TARDIS was so close now; he fumbled in his pocket for the key, reached out with his mind to his ship.

Crack! He didn’t notice the flare above this time, but the second shot hit him with the force of a cannon ball, propelling him into the air, his feet scrabbling wildly as he rose then fell, tumbling to the mud.

_Get up. Keep moving._

His head pounded.  He needed to be inside the TARDIS. He dragged himself to his feet. One pace. One more. The key. His breath came in rasps, his hands shook. Pain everywhere. Then the door swung open. He fell through.

Home.

~*~

The TARDIS closed her doors against the rain and the biting wind, and the thugs who banged and shouted at her doors. One tried to shoot her lock. The TARDIS ricocheted that blast right back in his ignorant face.

Her thief was back, he was safely inside her. He was home.

She couldn’t always see directly into his mind, but right now he was raw, wide open, crackling with energy from the blast he’d absorbed. As he lay sprawled on her floor she could see Clara as vividly as he had seen her himself moments before; her hair spread wide around her, her white shirt framed against the eternal blackness, arms stretched outwards.

Clara was falling.

He had to wake up. The TARDIS woke her theif the only way she knew how.

~*~

The Cloister Bell boomed.

The Doctor was dimly aware of the deep timbre of the bell echoing through the TARDIS. He felt it in his chest, reverberating, calling him. Demanding. _Wake up_!

“Ugh.” Everything hurt. Every part of him ached.  He lay still for a moment. Then he sat bolt upright. “Clara!” Clara was falling. He leapt to his feet, head still swimming.

He threw himself at the console. His head thumping and his vision blurred, he could barely stand. He stumbled to the telepathic interface and plunged his hand inside.

“Catch her,” he whispered, as he sank to his knees. “Bring her home.”

~*~

_Ten seconds_

Clara’s world grew ragged at the edges, the rush of air faded and everything blurred.

 _Catch me_ , _Doctor._

She heard the TARDIS, that familiar wheezing and grinding that sent her heart racing every time he turned up at her flat. Then the air was not quite so cold, and the dark was not quite so dark. The angles made no sense.  It didn’t matter, because the TARDIS enveloped her, holding her like a mother, cushioning her fall, welcoming her home.

Clara thought she heard a voice as she spun and twisted toward the light.

 _“I’ll catch you, Clara Oswald,”_ the voice said _, “because I love him, and he loves you.”_

Then she was in the Doctor’s arms and they both stumbled and fell across the console room floor. They slid to a stop just short of the bookshelf. She fought to keep her feet, looked up at him. He was a blur. She smiled faintly. Nothing stayed still, everything swam. She trembled. 

“Hello,” she managed weakly, before the world went black.


	4. Comfort

Clara shivered in the Doctor’s arms. Her skin was pale and icy cold to the touch and her soaked shirt ripped at the shoulder, first from the thickets, and then where he tried to grab her before she fell.

She looked up at him with trusting eyes. “Hello,” she said, in a voice that was barley a whisper. Her eyes flickered rapidly, and she plummeted towards the floor.

He scooped her up before she could fall and dashed to the med-bay. His hearts raced in his chest with every step. What the hell had he done?

As they entered the med-bay, her eyes flicked open again. “I’m falling,” she said, between shallow, rapid breaths, “Catch me.”

“I’ve got you,” he said --to reassure himself as much as her-- as he put her down on the edge of a medical bed. He felt for the pulse in her neck, it was racing but weak. “Are you okay to sit up there?”

She nodded. She was soaked to the skin.

So was he, but that barely registered.

He grabbed a thermal wrap from the bed and tucked it around her shoulders. It wouldn’t do much good with her clothes soaked like this. “Clara, we have to get you warm. Can you get out of these wet things?”

She nodded, and fumbled with the buttons of her shirt. Her shaking fingers couldn’t grasp the buttons.

“I can’t . . . they didn’t seem so small when I did them up this morning,” she said, faintly. Her face was white, and the ends of her fingers tinged blue.

“Shall I help?” he said, tentatively, not wanting to cross the line. But she had to get warm as soon as possible.     

She nodded, still trembling, teeth chattering.

He stood in front of her, between her legs, as she gripped the edge of the bed. He unfastened a button, then two, as she watched his fingers work.

She said through chattering teeth, “When I imagine you unbuttoning my shirt, this is _not_ how I picture it.”

“Uh, me either,” he said. 

His fingers froze.

Their eyes locked. Energy crackled between them, elemental and raw, and desire, unspoken for so long found form in those simple words.  She had imagined this, and so had he. There was no running from it any more.

A groan escaped his lips. “Clara—”

“Keep going,” she murmured. With his own fingers trembling now he dealt with the buttons and opened her shirt. He paused again, wondered, for a long moment, what it would be like to run his thumb over her collarbone, and then kiss her throat. He could lose himself in the nape of her neck with the scent of her hair all around him.

He took a sharp breath. Then peeled the soaked shirt, first one arm, then the other, from her and threw it to the floor and tugged the thermal wrap around her. He patted her shoulder awkwardly. _There, no harm, no foul._

Gods, who was he kidding?

“Can you stand up so we can get these wet trousers off?” he said, tone as business-like as he could muster. She nodded, still shaking, but gamely stood up and promptly wobbled into his arms. He steadied her, his breath quickening, heat rushing to his face. He groaned again. Was this some special form of torture?  

He fumbled with her trousers, found the button and the zip, hoped the trousers would fall to the floor, but they clung to her legs, and stayed stubbornly around her hips. He swallowed, felt like the worst kind of cad because this really shouldn’t be turning him on, but he ached for her.

He peeled the clinging fabric over her hips, past her thighs, over her raw and still bleeding knees. She lifted a foot to help and wiggled out of the wet trousers. He pulled the thermal wrap all around her, flicked the activation tab, and helped her back onto the bed.

“Let me clean up those knees,” he said. She flinched as he sprayed the wounds with          steri-flux. The nano-tech in the fluid delivered a local anaesthetic, and set to work destroying pathogens and then accelerating the healing process. By the time he had finished, she’d stopped shivering.

He stepped back. Space, that’s what he needed, and bit of time to clear his head. A rush of conflicting emotions churned in his hearts. His own neediness appalled him. He was a Time Lord, he’d lived more than two thousand years and seen civilizations rise and fall. He would probably be the last man standing in the universe, and here he was helplessly lost in Clara’s Oswald’s eyes.

 “Don’t go,” she said, bundled inside the silver cocoon. Her colour was slowly returning.

He sighed. He could deny her nothing. He wrapped his arms around her and the thermal material crinkled at his touch. “I’ve got you,” he said softly, and kissed her forehead.

Was this the time? Was this the moment to tell her she mattered to him more than anything? That he’d die a billion times for her? That without her he was half a man? If he was brave enough, he could tell her right now that he’d fallen for her, beyond all reason and hope of redemption.

Instead, he murmured, “I won’t let you go,” and thought himself the biggest coward in the universe.

~*~

Clara tried to slow her breathing down. The thermal wrap warmed her and the Doctor’s embrace soothed her, and she stopped shivering.

He kissed her forehead. “I won’t let you go,” he said.

After a minute or two, she wiggled her arms free of the wrap and reached around him. His clothes were wet too, the back of his jacket torn.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Doctor, you’ve got a hole in your jacket. That’s not fine.”

“I know. This is my favourite jacket,” casually, making a joke of it.

“I’m more concerned about what’s under it. Take it off.”

He mumbled, “Yes, boss,” and struggled out of the jacket, held it aloft, and put his fist through the hole and waved.

“It’s not a joke. Turn around.”

“Bloody hell!” His white shirt was singed right through, and what she could see of his back was a mass of black.  It looked awful. “Pass me that,” she said, pointing to a bathrobe hung on a hook on the wall. He handed it to her. She hesitated a moment, then let the wrap fall to the floor and slipped the robe on. He quickly looked away and busied himself straightening the crisp white sheet on the medical bed, and then he picked up the wrap from the floor. She got the distinct feeling doing anything _but_ look at her. And making light of his injuries.

Well, he wasn’t going to get away with that. He needed looking after too. “Does it hurt?”

“Not much.”

“Not much? It does hurt then.”

“Um.

“How about we stop playing around and you just let me bloody well look at you?”

“Well, you’re feeling better,” he grumbled. He threw up his hands. “Okay. It’s nothing. Just a bruise.” He turned around and let her untuck his tattered shirt from his trouser waistband and lift it up to look at his back. 

“Bloody hell,” she said. His lower back was a blackened charred mass, covered in bits of singed shirt and what looked like dried blood. “Take your shirt off and lay down. Don’t even argue.”

He complied, and Clara brought a bowl of water and a washcloth over to the bed. She rested her palm flat between his shoulder blades, letting him feel the contact. He didn’t flinch from her touch. That was a start. She wet the cloth.

“I’m going to clean this up, so I can see what’s damage and what’s just debris. You must have caught a full blast.” She wiped the washcloth gently across his back, carefully clearing away the dirt. Beneath, to her great relief, the skin seemed unbroken, although she was pretty sure she was cleaning off dried blood. Whatever had happened was healing already. She worked away with the washcloth, slowly cleaning him up. It was comforting, somehow, to take care of him.

He lay with his head rested on his folded arms. His skin was paler than hers, his shoulders spare and lean. As she washed his skin the blackened grime came away, leaving a patchwork of mottled black and blue beneath. She shuddered a little. While she was falling, he’d taken the full impact of the blast in his back and kept running,

She said, “I think you’re right, it is just a bruise. It must have hurt though.”

He shrugged his shoulders very slightly, but didn’t move.

She grabbed a towel and dried his back lightly, and then squeezed his shoulder. His muscles were coiled tight.

“You’re really tense.”

“I can’t think why,” he said drily.

She pressed her thumbs gently but firmly into the base of his neck, and worked her fingers along his collarbone. He groaned, very quietly, as if stifling the sound.

“Sorry, did that hurt?” she asked, but it didn’t sound like a groan of pain. He hadn’t heard her, or at least he didn’t answer. Was this crossing a line? But he’d as good as admitted he’d imagined unbuttoning her shirt, hadn’t he? She didn’t have to be a quantum mechanic to work that one out. She _wanted_ to touch him and feel close to him. His skin was deliciously smooth, so she probed his tense muscles, massaged his shoulders in small circles. He sighed deeply this time. It was doing him some good. He didn’t hate it at least, so she carried on, working the tension out of his knotted shoulders. His eyes were closed, his breaths calm and even, and he seemed relaxed. After a while, she thought perhaps he had drifted off to sleep, and let her palm rest on his back. She let herself imagine _his_ hands on her skin.  

She bent over him and brushed her lips to the nape of his neck. He didn’t move or speak. Clara sighed and looked down at him and took comfort in the fact that the bruise on his back seemed less livid than before. That was probably enough boundary pushing for now. She squeezed his shoulder softly, pulled a cover over him, and headed for the shower. 

~*~

On the medical bed the Doctor’s eyes flicked open and he watched Clara pad silently, wrapped in the white bathrobe, across the medical bay and out of the door. The ghost of her lips on his shoulder still tingled, and her hands on his back lit a flame in his hearts. He sighed very deeply. He was an idiot, but not a fool. He could see where this was going and there were a hundred and one ways for it to end badly, with his hearts broken and torn. But what could he do, when he was falling and helpless, except blindly hope she would catch him and break his fall?


	5. Home

Clara padded through to the console room towelling her hair after a luxurious shower. The Doctor prowled the console, wearing his brooding face, the stiff one that she was sorry to see back. She’d thought it had gone the way of the tight curls and awkward hugs. 

“You’re awake then. How’s your back?” she said brightly.  

“We should stop.”

“What?” she exclaimed, blindsided. Where the hell had that come from? Surely one backrub wasn’t enough to send him into a tailspin!

He started to pace with that restless energy that usually meant trouble. “I wonder, sometimes, if we should stop,” he explained, and then paused, looked at the ceiling, as if he might find an answer there. Then he threw his hands in the air.  “We keep doing this, running, hiding, now falling off cliffs. One day it will end badly.” He was red-eyed, his voice cracking. He stopped pacing and looked at her with those stormy eyes. He seemed resolutely clueless about the effect those eyes had on her. “Clara. I can’t lose you,” he said earnestly.

Clara stepped closer to him. “You realise that makes no sense at all, right? To stop seeing me because you don’t want to stop seeing me?”

He just shook his head as if it was all too much to understand.

The central column came gently to rest. “Where are we?” she asked.

“Home.”

“My flat? I didn’t ask you to bring me home,” she said, heat in her voice now to match the panic she felt rising in her chest. 

He wouldn’t look at her, and fiddled pointlessly with buttons she knew very well did nothing important. “Maybe a bit of time and space will do us good,” he said finally. He wandered to the doors and pushed them open.

Clara’s hackles rose. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well, Oh. . .” He looked out of the TARDIS. “Not home,” he said, and returned to the console, flicked some switches with an irritable scowl, and set the TARDIS’ central column in motion again.

It rose and fell once, then stopped.

He returned to the door and Clara went with him this time. As the doors opened a breath of air so fresh and intoxicatingly sweet it almost made her dizzy filled her lungs. Framed in the doorway a wide expanse of grass swept across the top of a hill, edged by an iridescent blue sky, and a tumbling waterfall in between. The water leapt and danced in a cascade of white, bubbling and roiling into a clear blue pool below.

Clara looked down at the floor. There was a picnic basket at their feet. The Doctor stomped back to the console, muttering something about unreliable transport.

Clara smiled. “The TARDIS seems to think I _am_ home.” His ship was daft as a bat sometimes, but right that moment she loved her. She patted the door and whispered, “Thank you dear.” She called to the Doctor, “Shame to waste a good picnic.”

He huffed and grumbled, spun round and scooped up the basket and strode out onto the grass. “What are you waiting for?” he groused, and set off up the hill.

The time rotor moved slightly, made a peculiar warble, and then stopped.  Clara shook her head and patted the side of the TARDIS fondly. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, not completely sure she wasn’t talking to herself. “I’ll catch him.”

By the time she reached the top of the hill, he’d spread out a blanket. He sat, back to the sun, arms locked behind him with his palms flat on the blanket, looking down at the waterfall. Clara plopped down next to him and they sat in silence for a while.

“It’s very beautiful here,” she said, as the splashes of water danced in the light. A rainbow arced across from the water to the trees below.

He looked at her intently. “Yes, it is,” he said. After a moment, he added, more softly, “I don’t know what she’s up to, but she’s packed us food and wine.”

Clara dug through the basket. “Oh. Why did she give us two blankets? Did she think we were going to argue and sit on separate hills?” She held up a pendent on a gold chain. “And what’s this?” The was stone set with swirling blues and browns that moved together, parted and re-joined, then moved again. It hummed gently in her hand, sending a tingle through her fingertips. It was mesmerising. “It’s beautiful.”

“Oh. Don’t know what that’s doing there,” he frowned at the basket. “I picked it up a while ago. I thought you’d like it, but I never got around to giving it to you.” He sounded causal. Too casual. By now, she knew when he was bluffing. He took the chain between his fingers; let it swing in the air between them.

She looked at the swirling stone, then back at him. Why had he bought her something like that?  “So you think of me,” she said slowly. “When we’re not together.”

“Evidently,” he said, a little gruffly. He caught the pendant in his hand and lapsed into silence,  suddenly interested in the waterfall and the distant trees.

Part of her wanted to scream. She’d give her right arm, and most of her worldly goods, to know for sure what he was feeling. He was right next to her yet the gulf between them dangerous and deep. 

“I think of you,” she said, tentatively, feeling her way gently, watching his face for signs. “Sometimes, I get home, and I want to tell you things. About my day.” She laughed and lay back down on the blanket. It sounded pretty daft now she said it out loud. She took her turn staring up at the sky, avoiding _his_ gaze. “How dull is that? You’d be bored stiff in ten seconds.”

He sighed and seemed resigned somehow. “No, I wouldn’t.” A chattering flock of red-breasted birds swooped overhead. “Maybe we should find planets like this more often. Watch waterfalls.” He nodded to the broiling cascade behind her. The sun caught the spray and painted a myriad of colours in the air.

“Yeah, right! We’d get to the planet of unicorns and rainbows, the unicorns would try to impale us, and the rainbows would be toxic. In fact, have you scanned that waterfall?” she said, trying hard to keep a straight face.

He waved the sonic glasses wildly. “Well, now you mention it . . .”

She rolled over onto her side, and propped herself up on her elbow so she could see his face. She took a deep breath. It was worth a punt, and maybe he’d bite. “Seriously, remember when we were on the Orient Express? I asked you if you came to people’s houses for dinner?”

“Hmm.”

“Would you?”

“What?”

“Come to my place, for dinner?”

His eyes met hers and then darted away. He fiddled with the necklace, infuriatingly so. She wanted to snatch it from him and bat him around the head.

He really was impossible. Her hopes sank. This was the Doctor, she reminded herself, she was crazy to think he’d do domestic. He wanted someone to pal around with, that was all. She shouldn’t hope for more than holding hands. No doubt this was his way of steering them back onto a safer course. That’s what they did; talk around things, not _about_ things.     

He laughed gently. “We just discussed doing _less_ dangerous things, and now you’re threatening to cook for me?”

Clara whacked him, playfully, and swallowed the lump in her throat. Because, she reminded herself, he’s not a just a _guy_. He’s ageless and ancient, the last of the Time Lords. Maybe he can’t love her the way she wanted, but he’d got her a beautiful gift. He’d never done that before. Maybe that was a close to domestic as he could manage.

~*~

The Doctor picked up the necklace. He’d bought it weeks ago, while he’d been wandering alone in an alien market, with thoughts of Clara never far from his mind. He’d imagined the necklace on her, and pictured her smile when she saw it. Then he completely lost his nerve and hidden it away in a drawer.

Fair’s fair, though, after today she deserved a little sparkle. He swung it in front of her and raised a questioning eyebrow. She smiled that smile he couldn’t figure out, happy and sad all at once. Then she sighed and nodded, turned her back and lifted her hair in an invitation for him to put it on her. He carefully placed the chain around her neck. His hearts started up their hammering again. Her hair smelled of fresh apples and something he couldn’t place. Here she was asking him to dinner. That’s what friends do of course, eat together. Probably should have done it long before now.

Her skin was bare at her shoulder, and he let his fingers rest lightly on the nape of her neck. Before he could stop himself he’d whispered in her ear. “I’ll come. If you want me to.”

She turned her head a little. “I’d like that.”

He closed his eyes, replayed their conversation in the corridor of the Orient Express the first time she’d asked him. She was on the cusp of leaving him and that hurt like hell. He’d worked so hard to play it cool when she stood in front of him, a glass of champagne in her hand, wearing _that dress._

“I remember the Orient Express,” his voice was breathy and hoarse, not much more than a whisper, “and you in _that_ dress,”

He paused, and then cleared his throat, realisation dawning on him. “I actually said that out loud, didn’t I?”

She twisted so she was fully facing him. “Yes you did. And you’re blushing.”

She was so close to him now, he could see her pupils dilate, and the flush of red across her cheeks.

He said, “So are you.”

She held his gaze, pinned him there almost, with her eyes. He was breathing fast, falling through eternity into her eyes, lost in emotions so powerful he didn’t know what to do or say. After what felt like forever, but must have only been seconds, his eyes involuntarily flicked down to her lips. He wanted to kiss her more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time.

He trembled. “Clara—” her name died in his throat. 

“What’s wrong?” she said gently.

“Just about everything. I almost got you killed—”

“No, you saved me.” She took his hand, the hand that had slipped away from him in the darkness hours before. Now she laced her fingers through his. 

He was not to be consoled. “What if something went wrong?”

She was so close, his hearts raced. All he could think about was what it would be like to crush her lips, unbutton her shirt, and feel her smooth skin under his fingertips.

“I need you so much, it terrifies me,” he said quietly. “There are reasons, lots of them, why I shouldn’t.”

She nodded. “Life would be so much simpler if you liked the people you’re supposed to like.” She glanced down at the pendant, took it between fingers of her free hand. “Fall in love with the people you are supposed to fall in love with.”

“Exactly,” he said tightly. “There’s a nice human boy out there somewhere, who’ll give you a home, children, one day at a time, in the right order.” He watched her, looking for a clue as to how she felt. He tried not to let it show on his face that she held his life in her hands.

She let the pendant fall to her chest, and then reached up to him and touched his face with her fingers. “Here’s the thing. I’ve fallen in love with _you_.” She moved closer, brushed her lips against his in the lightest of kisses.

His hearts raced and he pulled her closer. He was falling, endlessly, into those brown eyes. “This might be a terrible mistake,” he murmured, with no conviction at all because the mistake here had been waiting so long.

She held his gaze. “It might be a terrible mistake if we _don’t_.  We might regret it for the rest of our lives.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t want to argue with that, all he wanted was Clara in his arms, and here she was leaning into him, lips pressed to his. Softly at first, then deeper. She flicked her tongue into his mouth, made him groan. After a moment, he pressed back with his own tongue, exploring her mouth, her lips, pulling her closer and burying his fingers in her hair. 

They went to hell together once and found it made of steel. If there was a heaven, then this was it. He pulled the fabric of her shirt up and slipped his hands to her waist, and she groaned as his palms touched her bare skin.

He paused; one last doubt flickered through him. “You really want this?” he asked. It was still hard to process that she really wanted him in this grey-haired body.

He touched her hair as it fell loose about her shoulders. She seemed unbearably beautiful to him then. He leaned in to kiss her, and she was everything, everywhere, all around him, crashing in on him. Bringing him home, calling _his_ name like it was a prayer. She wove her fingers in his hair, and told him she loved him, over and over.  He never did know if she spoke those words aloud or if he heard her heart and mind, but he knew he’d carry her love with him until the end of time. She was imprinted on his heart and soul that day.

Later, he lay beside her, unmoving for a moment, and she clung to him. He couldn’t speak and she lay her head on his chest and he heard the soft sound of her breathing as if it was the pulse of the universe. He pulled the spare blanket over them both.

The waterfall crashed in the distance, and the sky was cloudless and blue. The wind rustled in the trees at the bottom of the hill.

After a while she said, “This should be our place. When we’re tired of running, and we want to relax, we should always come here.”

He nodded. “I’ll build you a cabin,” he said, and he could see she tried not to laugh.

“That’s…that’s very romantic. No one ever offered to build me a cabin before. But you? Seriously. . .?”

“You think I wouldn’t?” he exclaimed, mock offended. “I’d cut down each tree. Drag it right up this hill myself. Chop up each trunk and build a cabin, log by log. For you, Clara Oswald.”

She gazed into his eyes and nodded, and then put her hand to his face and kissed him gently.

“I think you would, my Doctor.” She grasped the pendant between her thumb and forefinger and the blues and browns on the stone swirled together. “I wonder if the TARDIS had this in mind all along. Found the perfect spot for us, on a hill, by a waterfall in the sunlight?”

He had asked his ship to take her home, yet the TARDIS had brought them here. Clara lay her head back on his shoulder and put her palm flat on his chest. “The old girl was right, by the way,” she whispered. “I am home.”

**Author's Note:**

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